


To Understand All Is To Forgive All

by Ella Symphony (LaurenX)



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Esme centric, Forgiveness, Gen, Introspection, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Nothing big, Reference to ships, Telepathic Bond, mostly - Freeform, no beta we die like men, not much dialogue, or just try to see it, you gotta squint real hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenX/pseuds/Ella%20Symphony
Summary: Esme didn't know much about forgiveness. She didn't feel any shame admitting that resentment was her forte.But she did know that the Von Struckers were as unforgiving as they came.





	To Understand All Is To Forgive All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StruckerSiblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StruckerSiblings/gifts).



> Gold, bronze and silver.
> 
> "What is forgiveness?"  
> The question fell from lips that had carried out a million executions. 
> 
> Solid, real and fake.
> 
> "I do not know."  
> The answer came from the man who gave the death sentences.
> 
> Resentful, unforgiving and merciless.

She didn't know what it was like to be someone, an individual, rather than a link in a chain. All she'd ever known was being part of a we. Be it in the horrid place where she was created or the Hellfire Club, she was nothing. She was no one. She wasn't Esme; she was the hive mind.

Until she wasn't.

Lorna was, surprisingly, the beginning. She was cocky and fierce and arrogant, but she was also playful and inspiring and strong. She never backed down, she braved through any storms; she loved with all she had and fought with even more. She was rough, but she wasn't cruel. Not to her, at least. She was so fucking _mean,_ and yet she never made her feel as inferior as everyone else had.

Lorna Dane, daughter of Magneto, made her feel real. She made Esme feel solid and as strong as she knew she was. Like she could be the same diamond Emma had once been, and withhold all the bullets aimed her way. With Lorna by her side, she felt powerful; she felt unstoppable. She felt exhilarated, despite the danger the other woman presented. Though she felt small, she also felt like she stood on top of the world, sat on a golden throne.

Gold was fake, most of the time, but oh, how it shone. It had been fun while it lasted, while Lorna was energy and not poison. It was fun and slightly reassuring even when it broke her. They'd danced around each other and then danced together, broken rules and hearts alike. Bruised bones, shattered hearts, aching souls. Lorna had it all and she didn't hesitate to give it away, to trace it into Esme's back as if to give her wings.

It was a mission, but it was much more than that. She lied often, which Lorna didn't like, but the woman coped. The woman resented and rarely forgave; Esme was no exception. But at least, it was _solid._. It was connection, which despite her mind, she'd never truly had. She had a bond, with Lorna.

Lorna was angry at a twisted world that had caged her for far too long, inhabited by cruel beings who feared all that was different. They'd left her scars that shone under the moonlight, with an iridescent hue. It was just because they couldn't accept the fact her soul was so different, it carried onto her beauty. And Lorna, unsurprisingly, had had enough. Enough of blood, and discrimination, and torture, and broken hope.

She was tired of this world and she set out to change it. Esme wasn't ashamed to admit she'd follow her anywhere. Lorna shone brightly against her eyes despite how harmed she'd been, eyes bright and wild; especially when she used her powers, caught in her prime. She was solid and shiny—like gold. She may not be eternal, like gold. But she gave Esme life, gave her strength, and god, she made Esme feel solid. She was there. They were there.

It wouldn't last and they both knew it. Lorna held out a hand, but she had to keep going and Esme was so far behind, she had to run to catch up. She'd never catch up. Lorna would fade away, into the brightness that blinded her. And Esme would be left reaching out desperately, running until her feet bled. It was what it was. It was solid. It was powerful.

It was gold.

•••

Andy was Phoebe's mission, because they were both the more volatile siblings, but Esme knew him before that. She'd seen him when she first entered the Underground, posing as a gentle and soft girl, brave and desperate to save her family. The disguise wasn't completely false, all in all. Under the thick layers of ice and cunning deceit, all those traits were weaved into her heart. But a disguise was a disguise, and the silver in her tongue was also solid. So were the diamond walls coating her heart.

Andy was, in short, a risk. He was predictable, most of the time, and he was closed off, like he feared what the world could do to him. But sometimes, there was this look in his eye— _or what he could do to world_. He was thrilling, even when he was boring. His thoughts were obscure and messy, often mirroring his turbulent personality. Esme had wondered what made him like that, upon first chancing his face; he smiled but his eyes didn't follow suit, and he joked but he didn't seem amused. He was sharp and he seemed spent, washed away. He shone dimly, like bronze; like he'd been used way too much and had once been shiny silver.

It took her two peeks into his head to piece together what his last year had been like. It took her less to decide that, no matter what, he could be a perfect piece on their board. A Von Strucker, powerful like few, angry at the cruel and twisted world. It was like he'd been molded to their needs. (She knew that wasn't it. People like them just gravitated towards each other. Towards scars and fake smiles and power that shed blood with little show of regret. He was salvageable, before Trask. And then, he wasn't.)

 _He's unforgiving_ , Phoebe commented through their imposed bond, a smirk in the way she thought. Sophie danced through the encounter, through all the stabs of doubt left by Phoebe, and her tinkling laugh rang out. _He seems lost, though he definitely has potential._ Esme wasn't amused, and for once, she didn't pretend to be. Her thoughts were cutting. _He's tired._

His fury was refreshing, when compared to Phoebe's eternal annoyance. It was fiery and it burnt everyone, including himself, equally. But it was there. It wasn't a facade put on to disguise the real thoughts and feelings one held, and it wasn't a controlled response to an outrageous event. It was real, like everything Andy didn't say. _Andy_ was real, even when he was lying through his teeth, and Esme would like to know what realism meant.

When he joined their side, she could feel his pain and doubt, his uncertainty and his determination. They juxtaposed each other but it was what it was, and in a way, she caused it. Esme had known that Phoebe was right, because she'd seen Andy's mind. It was marked by fists and blotches of ink, like his skin, but it also contained a million drops of resentment and a dried fountain of forgiveness.

Andy was as unforgiving as they came, leaving even Lorna in the dust. He walked forward, ran like the wind, crawled and dragged himself. But he wouldn't take the hand of those that had wronged them, even to save his life. He was bronze, genuine and unapologetic; he wasn't shiny anymore, though she knew he had been. What a cruel world it was.

 _That_ , Esme told her other parts bitterly, _is real._

•••

If she was being honest, Esme hadn't dived into Lauren as intimately as she should've. The girl didn't peek her interest, though she was beautiful and powerful and shiny. There was something...strange about her glow, like a trapped firefly, or a candle in a windy night. She wavered, even when she tried to stand tall. There was something fickle but merciless in there, interesting but revolting.

Lauren was her brother's counterpart, a complete opposite to his outlook and personality. Where he was faded, she was present. His faint shine was her vibrant glow. He tried to smile and she beamed. He destroyed and internalized, while she kept things together and spat it out. Their power was the same amount, a shared strength that connected into a unique force. It was a drug she'd tasted in their systems.

Andy, despite his numerous faults and his uncountable lies, was real. Lauren, kind and wonderful and compassionate as she was, was fake. Esme hated how appealing her falsehood was. Truly, Lauren was a master of disguise. She'd lied about what she was, who she was, why she did things, when she did them, what she wanted, what she felt and even what she thought. She made it her goal to bend all her truths, if only to reassure herself she'd continue to be the golden girl even when she was golden girl no more.

It was pitiful and worst of all, it was understandable. Esme could understand the thought put into every small lie, the reflex to bend the truth. She knew what it was like to think just this once and realize, years later, that you didn't know how to be properly sincere. How many times had she found herself lying about something meaningless, because it came easier than any truth to spill from their lips? She'd definitely lost count.

She knew, from looks into the clear mind, that Lauren understood the feeling. A life of safe, comforting lies came with a price. It was a burden, weighing you down until you could see the black and blue bruises tainting your skin. The falsehood was poison through your veins, burning away all desire to be truthful; burning away all possibilities to ever scream out your reality. It hurt, to know you'd turned into an unrecognizable person. To know you didn't recognize the person in the mirror, and that no one knew you. You just wore so many masks, you lost the base along the way.

Lauren was silver, in a way, but she reminded Esme of clay. She could be molded, changing her truth to fit the day. Tuesday she was a faceless viper, Sunday an innocent bud, and Friday she was the best of both worlds. She could smile and frown and snarl and laugh. She could bless you or curse you, she could love you or hate you. She could be whoever she needed to be.

Until she couldn't. She changed, in the end. Her truth was her fierce spirit. Her base was her bravery. Her fault was the high horse she'd climbed onto. Her beauty was ever present. Her soul was fiery. Her reality was out in the open.

Lauren was fake clay, dyed silver under the moonlight. Esme wanted to dance with her, look into those brown eyes and see which lie she would find. She wanted to meet that fickle smile and taste the half-truths brewing on her tongue.

She wanted to bathe in Lauren's soul, because fake as it was, it was like coming home.

•••

Esme didn't believe she could forgive. She didn't remember ever being forgiven. Brushing away blonde locks from porcelain features that were growing cold, she closed her eyes and begged for forgiveness she knew wouldn't come. She'd made her choice and the price was hers to pay. It was her sentence, her cross to carry.

Her punishment for failure. Her head felt so empty all of a sudden. There were tears in the fabric of her mind, brought forth by those that turned her from nothing to something. It was so quiet. Not a single trace of the thoughts that plagued her brain and comforted her beaten heart. Not a single smile or snide comment from all she'd ever had. Not a single cruel remark or rare compassionate grin.

Not a single heartbeat to join her monstrous one.

She couldn't help it. Esme gathered her sisters, boneless and heavy, into her arms and screamed as loudly as she could. The cops were coming closer, but she couldn't bring herself to care when she'd just caused the death of the only people she had left. She'd failed to save Mindee and Celeste, and now she'd essentially killed Phoebe and Sophie. She sobbed into Sophie's hair. Why could she never do the right thing?

"Freeze!" At the order from the human authority, her body tensed. Still, she was much too distraught to care about what some asshole wanted of her. Humans had caused her enough pain as it was. They could kill her for all she cared. One more body wouldn't make a difference now.

She curled her sisters against her chest protectively, laying her hands over their unbeating hearts. Small amounts of blood trickled over her pale fingers, staining ashen knuckles and thin nails. It was warm even though their bodies were not, and it made her finally tremble. The tears slid down her cheeks and fell onto Phoebe's coat.

"I failed you guys so badly..." She whispered and nuzzled against them, unfazed by the gun aimed at her head. _Kill me,_ she wanted to scream. _End me_ , she should beg. _Make me pay_ , she wished she could say.

" _Forgive me_ ," she finally stated, touching their porcelain cheeks as if to comfort them. She got no response. It was nothing but what she deserved. Her punishment was the guilt of such a crime, and the forgiveness she'd always desire, but never receive.

_What is forgiveness, anyway?_

The thought creeped into her brain, faintly, as the agents advanced in on her. They were aiming for capture; she didn't need to read their thoughts to know that. She also couldn't care any less about her fate, so she'd just stay with her sisters for as long as possible. They were gone and their deaths weighed on her heavily. Death was a stench she was familiar with, and although it used to be her perfume, now it composed her essence.

Handcuffs were being placed around her wrists roughly, leaving red marks on her pale skin, when a scream rang through the air and she was dropped to the floor like a ragdoll. She hadn't moved a single muscle, simply hanging limp in their hold, so the hit left her out of breath, satisfying pain ringing through her body. It relieved some of the emotional burden, and gave her some of the agony she deserved. Figures.

Frantic feet registered in her field of vision, which only covered the ground seen from the side. Familiar boots on small feet, which were attached to long legs and finally formed a petite body. Lorna crouched by her side and flicked her wrist, ripping the cuffs away from her gently and hauling Esme to her feet. The elder woman was breathless, pulling her along quickly.

"Come on, we need to run," she said under her breath. She clearly hadn't taken no for an answer, after Esme's statement before Lorna left with the others. Her stubbornness lit a fire in Esme, doused by grief and the knowledge of what was and would never be again.

"I...I can't leave th—" Esme's dazed but firm response was cut off by Lorna growling and literally pushing her into the hall. She bumped against the wall and winced at the pain.

"You can and you will," she barked, and continued when Esme opened her mouth to object, "because they're gone and you owe it to them to live, Esme. You owe it to them to fucking go out there and live. If it hurts, then you live with it. It hurts but you run and you survive and you live, damn it!"

Lorna was passionate in her every word, hazel eyes glowing in a way they hadn't during the first months in Hellfire. Despite the crippling pain in her chest, the overwhelming emptiness in her mind, and the cold on her cheeks, Esme smiled. It was sad and hurt and broken, but it was there. Her eyes were soft and understanding on Lorna's. Lorna closed her eyes, holding back tears.

"Your eyes are shining again," Esme mumbled wistfully, "let's go, Lorna. We...we've got to live, I guess."

Lorna's answering smile wasn't any more certain than her own. Even when she led Esme through corridors and into the sewers.

"Damn right," she said softly and firmly, grinning over her shoulder.

It wasn't real, but it was solid, like her grip on Esme's wrist. She smiled back, if only so she wouldn't cry.

When she unconsciously let her mind wonder into Lorna's and found no anger, no resentment; Esme understood. She didn't know what forgiveness was, which she realized only now.

But she knew that, for whatever reason...Lorna had been the first person to ever forgive her.

•••

Wandering into the motel building after her last visit was...weird and moderately intimidating. She felt like an intruder and a criminal, even after the others had assured her that she was alright. Marcos looked her in the eye and there was no hatred, no anger. Caitlin didn't despise her, which was honestly a miracle. John she hadn't seen. But Lauren and Andy...

Lauren and Andy were Von Struckers. They were Fenris and they were strong and so unforgiving in their own ways. It was like they dared others to hurt them, just so they could taste what true lack of mercy was. Esme sure as hell knew _that_ , and she knew resentment and hatred and whatnot.

But they also seemed to know or at least understand forgiveness, wisdom she wanted to find herself. She wanted to be able to be in the same room with them without a catastrophe. (Really, what she wanted was his reality and her existence.)

So, when she stood in front of their door, she hesitated. Her fist was raised to knock, inches away from the door, but her lips were parted in a silent breath. This was bold and she knew it. She was coming to their home after basically torturing them, asking for forgiveness, of all things. There was no world in which she could possibly deserve that.

Biting her lip, she pushed back her numerous doubts and knocked before she thought better of it. It was jerky and nervous, and she regretted it as soon as it happened. She snatched her hand away a nanosecond later, cursing herself internally. Esme had already turned around, ready to make her escape before she was faced with her mistakes—

"Esme?" Andy's voice was quiet and hoarse, tilted with confusion and exhaustion. Esme froze with an audible curse, shuffling to face him almost sheepishly. She flinched as her eyes took him in. He looked like hell—and it was all her fault.

His eyes were bloodshot and dazed, worryingly swollen; his nose and ears were bright red against his abnormally pale skin; he leaned against the door frame heavily, like his body couldn't take the strain of standing upright. And he was hunched over, trembling infinitesimally. He looked just like when they'd first met, trying to make himself smaller than he could possibly be. The kiss of death had always looked good on him, but now it was just another scar he didn't deserve to have.

"I...um...hi," she said lamely, tone trying to hide her horror. She must've failed because Andy stood slightly more upright, jaw clenching like a soldier in the presence of a superior. His face began to grow colder, like it did when he was with the Inner Circle, and his hands curled into fists around his long sleeves—

"I know it doesn't mean anything, but...for what it's worth, I'm sorry." She blurted it out, eyes widening as she realized she'd said it aloud. Andy looked taken aback, opening his mouth with an uncertain frown, when she began to vomit her thoughts.

"I hurt you and your family badly, and I know there's no way to atone for that, but I wanted to say how sorry I am. I mean it, I swear! I know it's selfish to ask you guys to forgive me after everything I've done, and I'm not even sure what forgiveness even is, but—" she took a sharp intake of breath, "I'm just...really, really sorry."

Silence. Andy seemed both perplexed and thoughtful, as if he were meditating on her words and their meaning. Esme couldn't help but fidget under his unusually scrupulous gaze, biting her lip and choking back senseless tears. She couldn't cry now, especially because it didn't even make sense, but her body had other ideas. It all just reminded her of all she'd put them through, of her sisters, of the facility, of everything.

Necks bruised by collars, eyes swollen by silent tears, soft smiles as the only comfort, quiet laugher as the rare music. When Mindee braided their hair and Sophie told them her plans for a dress, or how Celeste would always make them laugh and Phoebe would always keep them safe. How all the memories were like a diary splattered by blood, the pictures of five sisters burnt around the edges.

"Esme..." His words held a silent kind of pain, a struggle she could recognize. A battle between heart and mind, logic and feeling. She nodded, resigned.

"It's okay. I know you can't forgive me, and that's fine, because what I've done is unforgivable. I—" The rustling of his clothes against her coat was unexpected, as were his trembling arms surrounding her in a protective barrier. His embrace was surprisingly comforting, despite how cold his skin was— _blood loss_ —and how weak he seemed.

Esme felt her tears bubble back up and though she didn't deserve it, she sobbed and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands formed small fists in the back of his sweater, head buried in his shoulder. He was tall, impressively so, but he was like a wall between this world that could break even diamonds and the broken girl she truly was.

He didn't speak. He didn't say a single word, nor make a single sound, but he didn't need to. His actions spoke louder than anything he could ever say and she loved him for it. He was real around her, honest in the one way he knew how. He couldn't fake this and they both knew it. He was dimmer than ever now and she'd never hugged a body so cold, other than her sisters the last time she saw them. But his eyes were so warm and sad, and his arms so gentle despite the pain he'd put them through.

"Andy? What—" Hearing her voice, Esme stiffened amidst Andy's long arms. Suddenly, she wanted to he very, very small against his chest. She couldn't escape from this, though. Standing on her tip toes with a fair share of regret, she peaked over his shoulder.

There on the door, surprised but not outwardly displeased, stood Lauren Von Strucker. She looked slightly better for wear than Andy, hair pulled into a messy ponytail to expose a tanned neck. She wore an oversized sweater, basically drowning in the comforting fabric. She looked so tired, though; tired and infinitely sad, like she was older than she had a right to be.

Esme breathed in deeply and maintained eye contact, because she owed the other that much respect. Lauren's jaw was clenched tightly, eyes slightly distant, like she was hearing something. After a few seconds, she sighed and tilted her head. She just kept staring at the older blonde, thoughtful like her brother had been minutes before. Esme half-expected Andy to pull away and Lauren to threaten her with death. She swallowed.

Lauren, however, did none of this. Instead, she scratched her wrist nervously, hesitant to move from the door. There was some sort of uncertainty in her eyes, a fear that stemmed from that which she understood but couldn't help but dislike. She reached out with trembling hands, stepping forward like a toddler taking her first steps.

Esme scrunched her eyes shut tightly and tensed, waiting for a blow. An insult or the bite of Lauren's immeasurable power. Instead, she felt warmth for the first time in what felt like ages. She was in a cocoon of warmth and when she breathed she could feel vanilla and mint, contrasting sharply the expensive perfume she'd usually smell.

Her eyes blinked open hesitantly, finding an unlikely scene. Lauren had wrapped them both in her arms, eyes full of acceptance. She was hurt and she was scarred, but she accepted Esme's apology despite it all. It didn't mean she forgot what happened. That didn't mean it didn't hurt. But she accepted _her_ despite it all, and God, Esme was crying again.

Lauren smiled, merciful and soft and kind. She rubbed Esme's back with all the tenderness a lover should show and all the care a family would give. Andy's chin was on Esme's head, keeping her grounded as Lauren showed her a genuine grin, gleaming with the determined fire that lit up her soul.

She didn't speak, either, but both Von Struckers looked at her calmly, with acceptance. There was a certain amount of affection there, as well as so much pain. She could almost feel Andy's scars through his clothes, and their hold was so weak.

But they were real and they were there. They had caused each other so much pain, had done so much stuff no one should be able to forgive. But they'd forgiven her without asking for anything in return. They'd embraced her when not even her own flesh and blood had. They gave her a semblance of home.

Esme hugged them both and sobbed, with a twinge of the happiness that managed to wave through the sadness. She didn't understand forgiveness or what it was, even now.

But with these two, she could learn. They could all learn. Lauren smiled and Andy sighed. They were dancing, in their own way.

For once, they weren't fake. They were just solid, and warm, and _real_.

"So this is realism...huh?"

 _Let's learn...how to forgive._  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This work was inspired by scenes I thought we lacked, particularly how we went from the Underground wanting Esme dead to them being a team. As the fic centers a lot around forgiveness, I thought the title was rather fitting; it's a French proverb. For some reason, I've always thought that Esme would speak French, so there's that. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments! Those always light up my day and I'd love to get some feedback on characterization. Thank you all for reading!


End file.
